Fall Into Sleep
by ScaryScarecrows
Summary: Old ghosts, missing papers, and a decaying mansion He never should have come back to Georgia.
1. Chapter 1

AN: Hullo. No idea. Don't even ask. Title comes from the Mudvayne song, idea came from a really lucid dream. Fairly AU, I suppose-but not exactly...you tell me-, but I couldn't help myself. I grew up on these sorts of stories (only better ones, I'm still learning the finer points), and the Keeney mansion just _begs_ for some attention.

Updates will be on Wednesdays.

* * *

"Your father is going to kill me."

"Why?"

"I'd hardly call the state you're in 'one piece', Kitty."

"Ada* knows what line of work we're in. Even if he blames you, he loves me too much to kill you."

Well, that was reassuring.

"Good."

As much as he hated coming back to Georgia, Batman had yet to track them here. Besides, it was safer to voluntarily visit Kitty's parents. Mrs. Richardson had threatened to visit them in Arkham if they didn't, and _that_ would probably get them an earful.

He had another reason for making the drive back here. His old childhood home was a possible source of money. It had a handful of antiques-books, knick-knacks, et. cetera-and somewhere on that property was the deed to the place. He'd looked for it before and come up with nothing, but he hadn't been particularly thorough. He didn't like being in there.

God, he was tired…

No matter. They were here at last.

"Kitty Richardson, what did you do to yourself?"

"Batman did it, Mum."

"Come here and let me look at that."

"It's just a cut, Mum."

"Don't argue with me. You're next, Jonathan, so stop smirking."

"Yes, Ma'm."

It was threatening rain-had been all day-and he was glad to finally go inside and get a glass of ice water.

"What happened this time?"

"He found my lab and took exception." All that work lost. Idiot. No respect for the scientific community. "That's from being thrown into broken glass."

Kitty shot him a dark look but otherwise kept her mouth shut.

"Is that so? I need to meet this masked friend of yours."

"It's fine, Mum. We lost him."

"Not now, dear."

Ahh, couch. The only thing that would make his life better was a shower-a really long, hot one with actual water pressure and no interruptions. And hopefully no stolen clothes.

"All right, good enough. Jonathan, come here."

"I'm gonna grab a shower, Mum."

"Hurry up, we're in for a storm." Her finger tapped a cut on the bridge of his nose. "What's this?"

"Batman broke my glasses."

* * *

*'Ada' is Elvish for 'Daddy'. Kitty and her father are Tolkien nuts. LOTR used to be her bedtime story, and she broke out of Arkham to see _The Hobbit_ with him.


	2. Chapter 2

SwordStitcher-_I'd pay to see that. Jonathan! What the hell? I have complete faith in your mother. It's Batman! Mum would end up in the hospital! Oh, I don't think so. I can see it now, actually: 'Batman! Put that down before you take out somebody's eye!' That is not funny. Oh, but it is. And true, very true. _

Johanna Crane-_They don't know all the details. They know the gist, and little else. They know more than I'd like, but that can't be helped. The more...gory...details don't make the papers. Half the time the boring details don't make the papers. With a city full of crazies... True enough._

* * *

It was still drizzling the next day, but he had to go home. He had some searching to do.

"I have to go home for a little while."

"Why?"

"That deed is in there somewhere. Chemicals are pricy and Cobblepot's not about to give me the Old Acquaintance Discount."

"Can I come?"

"Sure. You can help search."

They took an umbrella and a thermos filled with coffee and trudged across the overgrown no-man's-land to Keeney Manor.

It had fallen apart in his absence. The porch was almost completely rotted away and the roof had holes. The door had swollen shut in the humidity.

"We're locked out." She tugged on his arm. "Change of plans, let's go home."

"Scared?"

"No, but it's creepy and we're locked out anyway."

Locked out, indeed. What were guns for if not getting them inside?

**Bang!**

"There. Door's open."

Inside was no better. It was dusty and it smelled like something had died. Hell, something probably had-they'd had rats in that last year, and now, with no one setting traps, they'd probably taken over.

"Deed?"

"It has to be here somewhere. She probably hid it-she was paranoid in her old age-but it's here. It has to be."

She shrugged and pointed to an old oil painting of a man in a grey uniform. He had cold blue eyes and curly black hair and his right hand was missing a finger. Jonathan had always hated that picture. It always felt like it was watching him.

"Who's that?"

"Elias Keeney. He built this place."

"I don't think I like him."

"Nobody liked him, according to Granny." The picture seemed to scowl. "His slave cursed him. Apparently Elias thought he was stealing from him, and lynched him. Before he died, the slave swore that anybody who set foot in his old bedroom would die a horrible death."

"And?"

"That's it."

"Some curse."

"That's what I thought. But Granny never let me go in the attic. She _said_ there were black widows up there, but maybe there's an angry ghost." He scoffed and went into the parlour. It hadn't changed since the day Granny died-there was even an empty glass on the table by her Bible. "Superstitious old crone."

"Do you think the deed's up there?"

"Maybe. I doubt it. Go and look, if you want. But watch out for ghosts."

"If I die, I'll haunt you."

He rolled his eyes and picked up the Bible. It would be just like her to put something important in here-she'd never let anything happen to it. If the house was on fire, she would have grabbed this.

He'd never realised it was so old. The family tree in the front dated back to the eighteen-hundreds, but the binding was new. There was Granny…and Grandmother…and Mother…and him. He was rather surprised she'd put his name in here, actually. Surprised and disconcerted.

He thumbed through it and found an old hair ribbon, a handful of family photos-one of which included Granny's hated brother-and a dried lily. There was no deed to be found and he dropped it back on the table.

THUD!

"Kitty?" Maybe those rickety stairs had claimed another victim… "Kitty, what happened?"

"I tripped on the top step and fell."

If she kept doing things like that, she'd give him a heart attack.

"How we ever escape from Batman is beyond me."

"I'm fine, thanks for asking."

He pushed his glasses further up his nose and went to Granny's desk. There were a few old letters-condolences and congratulations-that she'd never sent, something from the school informing her that he'd gotten in trouble for fighting-he hadn't started it, and he hadn't finished it, either-and a letter from Grandmother asking for money.

No deed.

Maybe this thing had a hidden drawer in it. It was old enough, like everything else in this house. He remembered as a little boy being forbidden to touch practically everything. It had been like living in a museum, only less interesting and more frightening.

He went over it again, found nothing, and scowled. It was just like Granny to make things difficult. She couldn't have stuck the thing in a folder marked 'Important Documents', oh, no.

It was days like today that he was glad to have gotten rid of her.

He wondered if Kitty was having better luck. Probably not-his one glimpse of that old attic had revealed a cluttered, cobwebby mess. She'd be out of there soon enough, anyway-there were probably roaches in it.

Where else, where else…perhaps her bedroom. It was as good a place to look as any.

He'd barely opened the door when there was a yelp and the sound of someone scuttling down the stairs.

"Roach?"

"Black widow."

He'd been close.

"So she was right. Wonder why she never asked me to get something down from there."

She swatted his arm and reached up to adjust her ponytail. She had a few cobwebs on her shirt and a smudge of dust on her nose.

"What did you do, walk into a web?"

"I opened a trunk and there was dust. No papers, by the way."

He wasn't surprised. That deed was probably in Granny's bedroom. Or maybe in her brother's bedroom. He'd check both and come back tomorrow if he was unsuccessful. The storm was starting to pick up again and he didn't relish being in here when it hit.

* * *

"You're quiet tonight."

"Kind of tired."

She'd been quiet for most of the afternoon, now that he thought about it. And she'd gone to bed early.

"Are you feeling all right?"

"Yeah. Just tired." She yawned and scrunched up against his side. "M'fine."

"You're sure?"

"Don't fuss, love." she mumbled. "Night."

The rain started up again, fat drops striking the window pane. Every so often a flash of lightning would illuminate the yard-the old scarecrow's cross (the actual scarecrow had long since rotted away), the weed-riddled field, and the rotting chapel.

God, he was tired. Maybe he'd stay here tomorrow, get some rest. That was, after all, the reason they were here.

Yes…sleep in, read his book, maybe go over his notes and see what had gone wrong with that last formula.

That sounded nice.


	3. Chapter 3

Christineoftheopera-_There's no such thing as curses. Don't be ridiculous. _Keep telling yourself that. _Don't you dare!_ I'm the author, I do what I want! _I hate you._ Ah, the teenage phase. Knew you'd get there eventually.

Johanna Crane-_How do you think I felt growing up there? I once found an old grave in the back yard, broken cross and all. Probably a slave or something-everybody in the family's accounted for-but still._

* * *

Jonathan didn't get his sleep-in. At three AM he was woken up by a nasty hacking.

"Kitty?"

She wasn't awake. What was this? She hadn't been sick yesterday! They were going to have a talk about hiding illnesses, for heaven's sake…

"Come on, wake up. Kitty." He tugged her upright and turned on the lamp. Too bright, much too bright… "Kitty."

He was rather surprised her parents hadn't come in, but it was probably for the best-his room was technically next door. Although he could just say she woke him up.

"Kitty." He shook her a little bit. "Come on…thank you."

She fumbled for her water bottle and he sat back to put his glasses on. Now that he could see her better, she actually looked awful.

"You're sick."

"Mm."

"I'm going to wake your parents…"

"M'okay." She coughed again and dropped onto the bed, still clutching the bottle. "M'okay."

"You sound awful."

"I'm sick, of course I sound awful."

"Are you sure you don't want me to wake your parents?" She nodded. "Okay. Night, Kitty."

He turned off the light, took his glasses off and made himself comfortable again. It was too early for this.

"Tell me if you're sick next time."

"I wasn't sick earlier."

"Of course not."

She sneezed and rasped something that probably wasn't very nice. Oh, well. True was true. He should know-he hid illnesses all the time in hopes of not being locked in the bedroom.

Come sunrise, he hadn't slept again. Kitty hadn't slept too much, either-she kept waking up coughing.

Unsurprisingly, her mother refused to allow her out of the bedroom.

"I don't want you getting sick like you did when you were twelve."

"Mum…"

"March yourself back to bed right now and stay there."

To his complete and utter shock, she went. She didn't even try to argue. What was that? Was it the tone? The posture? Maybe she really was sick.

He sneezed and Mrs. Richardson turned on him.

"Are you sick?"

"No, Ma'm."

"You're sure?"

"Yes, Ma'm."

She made him take his temperature anyway. Well. This was turning out to be an interesting trip.

"Good enough. Since you're down here anyway, be a dear and peel those potatoes, would you?"

Really?

The Scarecrow, God of Fear, the terror of Gotham City…was being recruited into peeling potatoes.

If had been anyone else, he would have gassed them on the spot.

"Yes, Ma'm."

* * *

Kitty came down for dinner wrapped in a green blanket. She looked awful-pale and shaky and not at all normal. He hadn't seen her this sick in a long time.

Now that he thought about it, he'd never seen her this sick.

"How are you feeling, sweetie?"

"My throat hurts."

"Can you manage ham, or do you want soup?"

"M'just gonna have a cuppa." she mumbled. "Sorry, Mum."

"You okay, Selde*?"

"M'okay, Ada."

"Maybe you should go back to bed, Kitty."

"I'm bored by myself."

Of course she was bored. He'd tried to go up there and she'd told him to stay out in case it was contagious. He couldn't summon up too much sympathy, either-he'd been stuck with her parents all day, wondering what he was supposed to _do_.

"Take some NyQuil after your shower. And don't pour it down the sink!"

"Mum-!"

"I mean it."

"Ada…"

"Listen to your mother."

He really shouldn't derive so much enjoyment from this. But she'd said the same thing to him too many times to count.

* * *

She was still awake when he went in later.

"Thought you'd be asleep by now."

"It isn't working."

He knew she'd taken it-her mother had loomed over her shoulder to make sure.

"Hm."

She rolled over for a tissue. He made himself comfortable and closed his eyes. He could feel a headache coming on. There was another storm coming.

"I have to go back to my house tomorrow." he said. "I want you to stay here."

"M'okay…"

"You are not okay. I'm not blind."

She sneezed. He wondered how long they could safely stay here-he didn't relish the idea of being caught with her like this.

"Go to sleep, Kitty." he said. "Please."

"M'kay, love."

That was better.

* * *

*Selde _might_ be Elvish for 'Daughter'. I'm not sure. The internet says so, but…yeah. Anyone who knows for certain, feel free to correct me.


	4. Chapter 4

AN: *grinning* If you want to know how brave a man really is, let him walk into a spider web. On a side note, my mother knew someone that was bitten by a fiddleback spider. She had a hole in her thigh ever after. Sounds painful.

Christineoftheopera-_Children, please stop fighting...__ **Yeah, children. **Don't you start. **Me? **You. Problem, Scarecrow? Don't encourage him... **SHUT YOUR FUCKING MOUTH, JON. **Now look what you did._

Johanna Crane-_I am a grown-up! I will pour it down if I want! But Mum or Jonathan always stands right there to make sure I don't.__ Somebody has to. Humph._

Just-Me-and-My-Brain-_What? That doesn't even make sense. It's in there somewhere, I know it is! **Chapel. Pfft. What, did she just lug it around with her? Jon, your gramma was cray. **Never use that word again._

* * *

Keeney Manor loomed up dark and cold that morning. It _would_ have to look like Hill House…

Well, he'd checked the desk, and Granny's room, and _that_ room…there was nothing in his old room…why did this house have to be so _large_?

He'd try the dining room, he decided. Maybe it was hiding in the silverware.

The long table-it had never been long enough to protect him-was covered in dust and webs and dead moths.

_"…__found something rather interesting today, Jonathan. __**Under your bed."**_

He shuddered and turned to the hutch that stood on the far wall. He'd never looked in here too much, really-too many fragile things. Ugly fragile things (especially that cupid), but fragile all the same.

He shoved the cupid aside, trying not to break it (it wasn't entirely impossible that Granny wouldn't come back to scold him for that) and reached into the back. His fingers met spider webs and he yanked his hand back. It could be a black widow's web, after all. Or a fiddleback-Kitty would not be pleased if he came back with his finger needing to be amputated.

He turned on the flashlight and shone the beam into the hutch. There was no spider to be seen, but he picked up the cupid and cleared it away. Better safe than sorry, after all.

There were quite a few old plates in here, a handful of tea cups-Kitty might like these, she had a collection of them in her room-and a china doll with a deathly pale face and creepy blue eyes.

He turned the doll facedown before closing the hutch.

Where the hell was it? It should have been in the desk, with the other important papers, and it wasn't. GOD, why did she have to be so damn _paranoid_?

He left the dining room and went to check the umbrella stand in the hall.

* * *

"Any luck?"

"No. How are you feeling?"

"Fine."

"Kitty…"

"Like death."

She looked it. She looked a little worse this evening, actually.

"Do you have the flu?"

"No. I have a bad cold, love, that's all." She sneezed. "Stop worrying."

"I am not _worrying._"

"Yes you are. You only chew your pen when you're worried."

Dammit.

"Hm."

"I'm gonna go take a shower."

He looked at his slightly-nibbled pen and frowned. Bad habit. Maybe he should get some of that no-chew spray that people used for dogs…

Kitty was coughing again-nasty ones that heralded a respiratory infection. Great. Hopefully the doctor in this town was better than the one they'd had when he was a boy. It was unlikely-Arlen had a habit of attracting people longing for 'the good old days' of Church every Sunday and no penicillin. Ah, home sweet home.

He was chewing the pen again. Whoops. He leaned back in his chair, staring blankly at his notes and listening to Mrs. Richardson

_Mary, dear_

singing some song about the seaside. Mr. Richardson was outside on the phone-he could see him wandering around, probably trying to get better reception.

Where was that deed? Perhaps it was in the attic, after all. Or the cellar. He didn't relish going into the cellar, but it was possible. He'd try the attic first.

Now, about that last experiment…

"Did the shower help?"

"No." She rubbed her face and got back in bed. "Do you have to go back over there tomorrow?"

"Yes."

"You just don't want to get sick."

"Partly."

She pulled the comforter up to her neck and closed her eyes.

"Oh, thanks."

"Was I supposed to lie?"

"Would've been nice."

"All right then. Of course it's not that, don't be ridiculous."

"Tha's better."

He rolled his eyes-she wasn't looking anyway-and went back to his notes. Where had he gone wrong? It shouldn't have worn off so quickly. Maybe it needed to simmer longer…

Kitty was coughing again.

"You don't need to go to the doctor, do you?"

"No."

"You're sure?"

"Uh-huh."

"You sound like you should go."

"No."

"Go back to sleep, then."

Her only reply was another coughing fit.


	5. Chapter 5

AN: He may not have fond memories of the _environment_, but there's probably all sorts of historically interesting _stuff_ lying around that he might enjoy.

Christineoftheopera-_Curses...preposterous. I grew up in that house and nothing ever happened to me. **Whoo! I'm not a curse! Brofist? **...I take it back. _

Johanna Crane-_I'm a supervillain, not a detective! Besides, parts of that house have fallen into disrepair and are nearly inaccessible. Thanks. Jes' the flu. It's Batman's fault._

* * *

It was hot in the attic. Hot and sticky and hazardous. There were webs and mousetraps everywhere and the flashlight was no substitute for the light that had once been here.

He started with a large trunk against the far wall.

The lid was stuck and it took a few tries to get it open. It wasn't worth the effort-the trunk contained a bunch of folded dresses, a few pairs of half-rotted shoes, and somebody's diary. He grabbed the diary-could be interesting-and let the lid fall back.

What else, what else…the wardrobe. It was as good a place to look as any.

There were more clothes in here-dresses and suits and hatboxes that had to be from when Granny was a girl, if not before. No diaries, unfortunately, and no papers, either.

**_Isn't this the cursed room?_**

_Supposedly._

**_Who-ooooo-ooooo!_**

_Grow up, Scarecrow._

**_You're no fun. Oh, well. If you fall through the floorboards and break your neck, I can say I told you so._**

_You'd be dead, too._

**_The last thing you will ever hear, as we're falling, is me saying I told you so._**

_Knock it off._

**_Hey, what's in that diary? Any-ahem-_****_encounters_****_?_**

_Really? I find something that looks like it dates back to the civil war and you think it's an erotic novel._

**_No, I think it's porn._**

_Why do I put up with you?_

**_I don't know._**

He shook his head and closed the wardrobe. It really was hot and sticky up here…maybe he should go and explore the cellar.

Ugh.

No matter. It would have to be done. Now he was annoyed that he couldn't find the damn thing, and he did not like being annoyed.

To the cellar.

**_Are you suure? Could be ghosties._**

_I'm not seven anymore, Scarecrow._

**_Yeah, well…_**

_Stop it._

**_You're not still scared, are you?_**

_No! I just don't want to go down there. It floods._

**_It's not even raining, puss._**

_But it could start._

**_Whatever, Ichabod._**

That did it. He was going down there right now and that was final.

**_Stud._**

_Do you have to provide commentary on everything?_

**_What? It's true._**

That didn't deserve a response.

He pulled the cellar door open and started down the steps. It was darker than he remembered it being, even with the flashlight, and he really, really wanted to go back up. But Scarecrow would never let him hear the end of it, and it wasn't as though he could just gas him and be done with it.

Pity, that. He'd always wondered what his alter was afraid of.

**_Nothing._**

_Everyone's afraid of something._

**_Not me._**

One day, he'd test that theory. Somehow.

A light _squish_ let him know he'd reached the foot of the stairs. So it had flooded recently. Typical.

Something-a rat, perhaps, or an incredibly massive spider-ran across his foot. Ugh. He really needed to get an exterminator in here if he ever found that deed. He could probably kidnap one. Or maybe Cobblepot knew somebody.

The flashlight was beginning to dim-oh, what a shame! He'd have to leave now.

**_Wuss._**

_I don't want to die because I tripped over something in the dark._

**_Wuss._**

Wuss or not, he was getting out of here. He'd come back later with fresh batteries. Besides, he wanted to take a look at the diary that he'd found.

* * *

"What's that?"

"A diary. How are you feeling?"

"Awful. Whose is it?"

"I don't know. It was in a trunk in the attic."

"Put it back."

"Why?"

"It's personal."

"Whoever wrote it has been dead for who knows how many years."

"Still."

He rolled his eyes and set the dusty little book on his desk.

"Fine." he lied. "I'll put it back tomorrow."

"Promise?"

What had gotten into her? Maybe he shouldn't tell her any more family ghost stories until she was feeling better. They were doing something to her head.

That was something to keep in mind for future test subjects.

"Promise. Come on, if you skip dinner again your mother will make me bring in the feeding tube."

"But…"

"Don't make me carry you."

"I'll call Ada."

That was not fair.

"Kitty…"

"M'not hungry."

"Then _I'll_ call your father in." That got her up, but she nearly fell over when she got tangled in the blanket. "Can you make it downstairs without falling?"

"I think so."

He wasn't so sure of that, but he kept his mouth shut.

The diary turned out to be a nightmare to decipher-it was written in that horrid old-fashioned script with unnecessary curls. Once he got the hang of it, however, it wasn't even worth it.

_December 3__rd__, 1888_

_Not sleeping anymore. Strange noises. Never should have-_here the writing had faded to illegibility-_never._

Did all of his relatives have to be idiots? Granted, Granny hadn't been a fool, but she'd been a superstitious nut, and everybody else seemed to be missing a few brain cells.

_December 6__th__, 1888_

_Woke up feeling poorly. Need more sleep._

Well, that was interesting. Truly.

He closed it and stuck it in his drawer for the time being. It was time to go to bed. Surely Kitty was asleep by now-she'd taken NyQuil again tonight.

She was asleep, but she was having a nightmare. A rather violent one, apparently-she'd thrown the pillow to the floor and now she was wrapped up like a butterfly in a spider's web. As dangerous as it might be, he'd have to wake her up. She had all the blankets.

**_Aren't you a philanthropist._**

_I have my moments._

"Kitty." He shook her, prepared to dodge out of harm's way. "Kitty, wake up."

"Stoppit…"

"Kitty."

"Di'nt mean…"

"Kitty."

"M'sorry…"

"Kitty. Wake up, you are having a nightmare."

She probably would have flailed, if she hadn't been cocooned. As it was, she would have rolled off the bed if he hadn't shoved her back onto it. Had she been this warm earlier…?

"Kitty?"

"Jonathan."

"Yes." He paused, wondering if he should turn on the light. "You were having a nightmare."

"You have to give tha' diary back." Her words were running together and he doubted she'd woken up all the way.

"In the morning. Remember?"

"He wants it back."

She wasn't awake at all, apparently.

"I know. First thing in the morning, I promise. Go back to sleep."

"You have to give it back or he'll come get it."

He finished untangling her-she was no help at all-and put his hand on her forehead. She had not been this warm earlier. Great.

"I'll give it back in the morning. He can wait."

"Did you read it?"

"No." he lied. "Now go to sleep, you're still sick."

"You can't read it."

"I didn't."

"M'kay."

She fell back to sleep without another word.


	6. Chapter 6

AN: _Mum's a nervous chef. When Ada had his appendix out she made enough food to last us a month. At least she's productive-when I'm worried I just panic._

Christineoftheopera-_For the last time, there are no such things as curses! Bad luck, maybe, but that's all. This isn't the Twilight Zone, after all. And no, I don't happen to keep Thorazine on hand. **Yech. Why do you let them give you that crap, anyway? **Because they don't like you in Arkham, and would rather you not be out. **I need therapy, too! **They don't see it that way._

The Puppeteer Patient 120402-_Not intentionally, but family diaries are 'history'. And she didn't read them, as far as I know. **It was boring anyway. Not even a hint. **Thank god. I don't want any mental images... **How do you think you got here, anyway? Somebody had to do it. **That doesn't mean I want to know about it. **...Yeah, I don't really wanna know, either.**_

* * *

"Jonathan, please…"

"Kitty?"

"Back…"

"Wake up."

But that was the problem. She was awake, somewhat, she just wasn't seeing him.

"Please."

"I'm going to get your mother. Just…um…I'll be right back."

"But…"

"I promise I'll be right back." She tried to grab his sleeve. "Don't go back to sleep."

He straightened his glasses and went downstairs.

"M-Mrs. Richardson?"

"Mary, dear."

"Yes, Ma'm. Um…" How to say this? "Kitty's…worse."

"What d'you mean, worse?"

"She's delirious."

"Make sure this doesn't boil over." She shoved the spoon into his hand and went upstairs. What was she making, anyway…soup. Huh.

Kitty hadn't been this sick before. Come to think of it, he didn't remember her _ever_ being this sick before, even when she'd had the flu.

She wasn't going to die, was she?

He was stirring the soup when Mrs. Richardson came back down and took the spoon from him.

"Do you know anything about a diary?"

"I found one yesterday."

"Was there anything special about it?"

"No. She wanted me to give it back and I said I'd do it this morning."

"I don't like the doctor here." She seemed to have forgotten all about him. "But there's no one else to call…what are you still doing down here?"

"Um…"

"She's asking for you. Go on."

Oh.

She hadn't moved, and she didn't react when he knocked on the doorframe.

"Kitty?" She was looking at the far wall. "Kitty? How are you feeling?"

"Did you give it back?"

Give what…oh.

"Yes."

"Then why's he still here?"

What? Maybe she'd finally cracked. Or she'd somehow gotten dosed…

"There's no one here."

"He's right there." One hand, pale and shaky, emerged from the blankets and pointed to the corner. "See?"

There was nothing there. There wasn't even anything that could be mistaken for a man. That corner was empty-not even a cobweb.

"I see him, Kitty." He sighed and took his glasses off to rub the scab on the bridge of his nose. "He'll go away eventually."

"He said he'd leave when you gave it back."

"I did give it back." Why did sick people have to be so stubborn? He was the same way-fever must trigger some kind of bulldog response or something. "This morning."

"M'kay."

"Go back to sleep, Kitty."

"But he's still here."

"He'll be gone when you wake up."

She finally looked over at him. She wasn't anywhere near lucid. Mrs. Richardson was right-she needed to see a doctor.

"Don't go back over there."

"Over where?"

_"__There."_ She jabbed a finger in the general direction of Keeney Manor. "Let them keep it."

At this point, he was tempted to promise her Batman's head on a platter if she'd shut up and go back to sleep like a good patient.

"Okay." he said softly. "They can keep it." A red scrape running along the length of her arm caught his attention. That was new. "You just need to get some rest, all right?" He stood up and replaced his glasses. "I have to go downstairs for a little while. I'll be back later."

"Mm."

She turned back to the corner.

* * *

"Well?"

"Did she mention anything about someone standing in the far corner to you?"

"You, too? She kept saying there was a man that looked like you, only with a moustache, standing there."

At least _that_ had an explanation-the old picture of Elias Keeney.

"Did you call the…"

"_That_ old windbag?" She snorted. "He's too knife-happy. I went in for chronic migraines and he tried to get me to let him cut my head open! All I needed was a different medication."

"Oh."

She went back upstairs, shaking her head and apparently arguing with herself. He waited for a few minutes before slipping up to his own room and pulling the little diary from the drawer.

She hadn't even _looked_ at this-what about it had made such an impression? It was nothing but a little brown volume with a cracked spine and ink blots on the cover. If he hadn't thumbed through and seen 'Diary of Elias Keeney' written on the inside cover, he wouldn't have known what it was, much less who it belonged to.

She was just making conjectures, that was all. That ghost story had gotten into her head at the wrong time. The same had happened to him in regards to _The Canterbury Ghost_. His version had been much scarier than the actual one. He'd liked it more, but that was neither here nor there.

Poor timing, that was all. She'd probably wake up this afternoon and have no recollection of anything.

* * *

He was wrong. By nightfall she was still insisting that there was a man in the corner of the room (nonsense!) and that something _very terrible_ was going to happen and _had he really put the diary back?_

"Yes, I put it back. I promise I did. There is no one there. Nothing is going to happen."

"But…"

"Look." He walked over to the corner and waved his arm around in it. Nothing. Not even a cold spot. "There's nothing here."

"Your hand's in his chest."

Of _course_ it was. Maybe they should have stayed in Gotham…

He let his hand fall to his side and went back to the bed.

"There's nothing there. It's in your head."

_"__Jonathan."_ Maybe he should've apologised to the thin air… "He's _there_. I don't…"

She started coughing and struggled up, still half-gesturing towards the corner. He considered sedating her.

"Okay, Kitty. Okay. Come on, just…"

She slumped forward, her fingers hooking on the neck of his shirt. She was really warm. Maybe they should risk the trip back to Gotham after all…

"Kitty?" She snuggled up against him, hiding her face in his shoulder. "Just go to sleep."

"But…"

"Good night, Kitty."

She yawned and he moved to set her back down. She refused to budge.

"No."

"Okay."

"Thanks, Jonathan." She shivered. "He keeps staring…I don't like him."

"Shh."

"Make him go away."

"He'll be gone in the morning." He rubbed her head. "He can't hurt you anyway."

Hopefully she'd be back to normal in the morning. If she wasn't, maybe it would be worth returning that little diary after all.


	7. Chapter 7

AN: My Scarecrow doll has a 'needle glove' that's been jabbing people who pick him up roughly. I think that when I am old I'll start spreading stories that it came from South America and was cursed by an ancient shaman. Then before I die I'll paint the 'needles' with some kind of poison, so when some idiot picks gets poked…CURSED DOLL! *snickers* I should be ashamed of myself.

The Puppeteer Patient 120402-_There are no such things as ghosts. It isn't possible. And don't encourage her, you'll make it worse._

Christineoftheopera-_Quite frankly, you're both idiots. Now take your arguing outside, you'll wake her up. **You're no fun, Mom.** You too, Scarecrow! Out! _

* * *

She was not back to normal the next morning. If anything, she was worse.

"No, please…stoppit…Jonathan!"

"It's fine. I'm fine. You're having a nightmare, just wake up."

_Please._

He'd taken over from her father, who had given him a look that just _screamed_, 'behave or else'. He was reasonably certain that the man hadn't wanted to go anywhere, but he'd been there for a while already and had dozed off in the chair twice. Mrs. Richardson had chased him out then, citing a bad back and the desire to keep the number of invalids to a minimum.

Mr. Richardson had left a worn copy of _The Hobbit_ on the nightstand and he picked it up. He'd only read it once-Kitty made him-and he didn't remember much liking it. He'd never been one for dragons.

"Please…"

"Kitty?" He shook her-how hot was she, hot enough to risk a hospital? "Kitty. Wake up."

"Jon'th'n?"

Good. Lucid enough to recognize him, then. That was always reassuring.

"Yeah. How are you feeling?"

"You didn' put it back." Her accusation was weak. "Tha' diary."

"I did put it back." He was tempted to, anyway. "I put it back right where I found it."

"Why's he still 'ere, then?"

He looked in the corner, adjusted his glasses to make _sure_ there wasn't any humanoid thing there, and shook his head.

"Kitty, there's no one there. You're sick, it's a hallucination."

"But…"

"Shh. There really isn't anyone. I promise."

She was ignoring him completely, focused on the corner.

"He doesn't like you." she said hazily.

"That's normal."

"No." she insisted. "Not like this."

"Kitty…"

"He doesn't."

"Feeling's mutual, I'm sure."

"But…"

"Just go back to sleep."

"He has a knife."

Of course he did. Wasn't that always the way?

He sighed and let it drop. There was no convincing her of the lack of crazy man in the corner. At least he was just standing there-if he was attacking people he'd have to sedate her.

Although, to be honest, he was tempted to do that anyway.

For lack of anything else to do, he picked up _The Hobbit_ again, careful not to dislodge her father's bookmark.

_In a hole in the ground, there lived a hobbit._

* * *

Mrs. Richardson took over from him a little while later and he found himself at home again, standing outside Granny's door. It was beginning to rain and he hoped the roof would hold.

He didn't know what he was here for now-nothing, really, just something to do.

**_Are you gonna go in there?_**

_I don't know._

**_C'mon. Do it._**

_No._

**_WIMP! I knew it!_**

He reached out and yanked the door open.

It was dusty in here, but other than that it looked the same as it had the day he left. Not even the mice had gotten in here, and if he hadn't known any better he would have thought she'd just stepped out and would be back any minute.

He didn't really want to go in there, to be honest. He hadn't _really_ been in there the other day, either-just a quick check for any loose papers.

Okay. She was dead, he could go in there if he liked and there was nothing she could do about it.

He stepped inside and repressed a shiver. Everything in here was as neat as a pin-bed neatly made, brushes lined up just so on the dresser, her journal on the nightstand.

**_It smells like old person._**

It smelled like death, anyway, but that was probably his imagination.

**_Is that you?_**

_Is what…oh. Yes._

**_You were an ugly kid._**

He picked up the picture on Granny's dresser and cringed. Easter Sunday, when he was twelve. He'd been terrified to be so close to her, he remembered.

**_You're an ugly adult, too, so I guess it's fine._**

_Shut up, Scarecrow._

**_Would you rather me call you pretty?_**

_I'd rather you be quiet._

He turned the picture facedown-the last thing he needed was Granny looking at him, even if it was only a photograph.

It felt weird in here. He'd always been told-among a thousand other things-_never_ to come in here. In event of injury or illness, he was to stand outside and knock. If he was incapable of knocking, he was to call. If he couldn't do that, too bad.

He wasn't touching that diary-what if she staggered in from the chapel, screeching and demanding that he _put that down, you insolent boy!_

**_Jon-a-thaaan! _**Scarecrow croaked. **_I'm coming to get youuuu!_**

_Shut up, Scarecrow._

Scarecrow cackled.

**_She can't come back. You're just jumpy because Kitty's ghost hates you._**

_Maybe._

Another book caught his attention, one tucked in the lower portion of the nightstand. Granny's photo album. He remembered many a rainy afternoon like this one being spent looking at it, hearing rather horribly stories about the people in it.

Maybe she'd stuck the deed in there.

He picked it up a little rougher than strictly necessary and started flipping through. There was the house when it was first built…and there was Granny as a little girl, with her parents and siblings-but not the brother he'd been named for, he must have been dead already.

He flipped through, one ear open for any sounds. There was Grandmother, holding a baby-Mother, he supposed. And…oh.

Near the back of the book was a picture of Granny, seated in a rocking chair holding a rather scrawny baby. Him. He was surprised she'd bothered. Surprised and a little creeped out.

**_You were a hideous baby._**

_I have yet to see a pretty one._

**_True._**

He snapped the book shut, inhaling a cloud of dust in the process. He turned, coughing, and caught sight of _something_ in the mirror.

_What the hell?_

He spun around, a canister of toxin already in his hand, and saw nothing. When he looked back at the mirror, the only thing in it was his reflection.

It was time to go back anyway. The storm was growing and it was getting late.


	8. Chapter 8

AN: There really was an Arlen, Georgia, but there's no record of it after 1915. There's not much about it before, either-I'm guessing they either merged or abandoned the place for some reason (probably the former, though). They should bring it back and rake in the money of fangirl tourists.

The Puppeteer Patient 120402-_Poppycock. There are no such things as ghosts, and that's final. Then what's that? Your fever, giving you hallucinations. Now go to sleep. What if he comes over here? He won't come over here. But... For the love of...I won't let him come over here. I don't like him. I'm sure you don't._

* * *

"Jonathan?"

Recognition. Good. Last night she'd been convinced he was someone else.

"How are you feeling?"

"Fuzzy." She blinked a few times. "My throat hurts."

"Then be quiet."

"But…"

"You never could shut up for two minutes, could you?"

"Be nice to me, I'm sick."

Yeah. He was aware of that, thanks.

"What about a drink?"

She grimaced and shook her head.

"Where's my Mum?"

"She's on the phone, but I can go get her."

"S'fine." He was tempted to go and get her anyway, but he was a little more curious about 'the man in the corner'. "Time s'it?"

"Around four."

She shrugged and pulled the blankets up over her head.

"M'kay."

She hadn't mentioned anything yet. Maybe that was over with. Only one way to find out…

"Is your…friend…still here?"

"Uh-huh."

Great.

"What's he doing?"

"He doesn't blink." she mumbled. "All he does is stand there."

"I see."

She didn't say anything after that.

**_Dude, you've got a hitchhiking ghost!_**

_No such thing._

**_Shows how much you know._**

_Why can't we see him, then?_

**_Because you never let me out, and because you don't believe enough. Believe, Jonny, believe in Santa!_**

_What? No. She's hallucinating, that's all._

**_What the hell did you do?_**

_Nothing! That 'no poisoning people we like' rule is for your benefit, not mine._

**_Oh, sure, blame me for everything._**

He'd have to check, but he was positive that wasn't it. This wasn't how it reacted, not even that new batch that Batman had ruined.

**_Just don't go all Poe hero if she dies, okay? 'Cause that's creepy and weird._**

_She's fine._

**_I'll dump your ass if you try to make her a clockwork lady._**

_That's not Poe._

**_I'll dump your ass if you preserve her in a basement._**

_Knock it off, it's just a bad cold._

**_NO CREEPING._**

He sighed and reached for _The Hobbit_ again. It wasn't all that interesting-trolls? Really?-but he wasn't about to bring that diary in here and he didn't want to go and get something else.

* * *

_Tick-tick-tick-tick…_

_Odd, mechanical movements…but it will have to do, he has no other choice, just until he can figure out what's wrong, then he'll fix it._

He woke to someone shaking him. His glasses had fallen into his lap and it was dark.

"Come on, you'll get a crick."

"M-Mrs. Richardson?"

"Yeah. Go on to bed, I'll wake you."

_Now look what you did._

**_Hurm?_**

_I blame that dream on you._

**_It's not my fault you listen to me. Go back to sleep._**

Now? Yeah, right. Not after that.

He turned on the lamp by the bed and picked up the ratty little diary. He'd started at the beginning last night, hoping to get used to the faded, spidery writing.

So far there was nothing of interest in there-a slave escape attempt, that hadn't ended well-and a rash of influenza in town. Interesting enough, he supposed, for the historical value, but he'd been hoping for something a little more…exciting. Less mind-numbing, perhaps.

He was skimming more than reading when he got his wish-a rather graphic description of a _punishment-the_ writer had enjoyed this, apparently. He would keep this, he decided, and show it to the doctors at Arkham. 'See? It's genetic, I can't help it.'

Not really, but it was a nice thought.

Genetic or not, the description gave him the shivers and he snapped the book shut. He'd had enough for the night, he needed to get some sleep.

He was not so lucky. Maybe it was the earlier dream, maybe it was the book, or maybe it was plain _worry_, but he spent the rest of the night scrunched under the covers with a nasty feeling of being watched.


	9. Chapter 9

AN: I have a cold and now I sound like the lovechild of Batman and Castiel. Bastiel? Catman? Yergh. Anyways, there's this e-book called _The Muse_ that's been entertaining me. Layne and Alice kind of have a Scarecrow-Jonathan dynamic going on, only less homicidal. There will not be an update next week-I will be away. Apologies.

The Puppeteer Patient 120402-_I have an idea that makes a little more sense, actually._

Just-Me-and-My-Brain-_Bite? Great, something else to consider. I should just place her in a bubble, I swear..._

* * *

Dawn found him riffling through his equipment. He couldn't do anything spectacular, but a blood test-of sorts-was easy enough. She probably wouldn't like it, but she'd thank him later.

If there was a later.

If this didn't work, he decided, he'd make a few calls, check to see if there was anyone in Gotham he could blame. Edward would know if anybody had been working on new poisons, possibly thanks to being a guinea pig.

Scratch that-_probably_ thanks to being a guinea pig. Edward had the unique talent of pissing off everyone with little effort. Well, aside from Harley, but it was nearly impossible to piss off Harley. Unless you were Batman, who did not count.

He finally came up with what he needed and went in, hoping that fate would be done toying with him and that she would be fine.

He was not so lucky. Of course not. The universe had it in for him.

**_Yeah, your life could be a soap opera._**

To make matters worse, Mr. Richardson was on guard duty. This could be potentially problematic.

"Hello, Jonathan."

_Help._

**_Bye._**

"Morning, Mr. Richardson."

"What is that."

Well. No pleasantries from him. Must have been a long night.

"Needle." He held it up. "I need a blood sample."

"Why."

"I need to rule out accidental toxin exposure." Which would not be his fault, and which would wear off-he hadn't quite perfected that batch before Batman broke in. "It happens…"

"You're quite sure it would be accidental?"

**_Somebody's in trouble!_**

"Batman knocked over most of my equipment." he explained. "We weren't expecting him, we weren't taking the proper precautions…"

**_Stop rambling, you're not helping._**

"I see." He didn't like that tone. "Get on with it, then."

She didn't even wake up. Good. That would make this easier, then. She didn't like needles. It wasn't a full-blown phobia, but he had to fight her on the flu shots.

He'd drawn blood from people lots of times, but never while their father was breathing down his neck. It was not an experience he wished to repeat.

"Well?"

"I have to run some tests…shouldn't take more than a few hours."

He most certainly did not flee the room. Leave quickly? Maybe.

* * *

_Dammit!_

**_What?_**

_Not it. Not even traces._

He scowled at the tube, willing it to change its mind. It did not.

**_At least her dad won't blame you._**

_She was fine! She was fine when we got here! What could possibly have…_

**_Curse._**

_Don't be ridiculous._

**_Just sayin'. It's awfully coincidental, Jonny._**

_There are no such things as curses._

He didn't realise he'd been chewing his pen until he got the sickly-sweet tang of ink in his mouth. Blech.

He remembered the library. There were books in there, all sorts of books. Maybe one of them would have the answer.

He sighed, got a flashlight and his raincoat, and trudged across no-man's-land to the porch.

It was raining again and by the time he got the door open he was soaked. He shuffled into the hall, paused to scratch an itch, and went to continue on.

Unfortunately, he slipped in a puddle that had formed while he was standing still, pinwheeled frantically for a minute, and finally went down hard enough to knock himself unconscious.


	10. Chapter 10

AN: Remember when I said this was kinda-sorta AU? Yeah. I am breaking Nolanverse laws. As well as the laws of science. And probably a few others that I don't know about.

The Puppeteer Patient 120402-_Ghosts are a scientific impossibility and that is final. This is what I get for telling her scary stories, that's all. Bad timing. I remember being fairly convinced that a raven was perched at the foot of my bed when I was ill-read Poe at the wrong time._

Christineoftheopera-**_Rain kills, kid. Remember that._**

Just-Me-and-My-Brain-_Owww..._

Katherine-_I'm also tired, not particularly fond of going in that house, and worried. Let's see you be practical in this situation._

* * *

Ow…

Headache…

Where…?

Library. He'd forgotten to call Edward,

_Didn't want to?_

thought the library would have something…

God, what time was it?

It was dark, but that was nothing new. The house was always dark, even on sunny days. He could have rented it out to a horror film.

He tried to sit up and was hit with dizziness and nausea. Okay. He'd just stay down for another minute or two, that was fine. But he really should be getting back, they'd be worried…

**_The fuck did you do?_**

_…__I slipped._

He could practically see Scarecrow facepalming.

**_You gotta be kidding._**

_I didn't do it on purpose!_

**_Oh, my aching head…don't shout, jackass._**

He felt about for his glasses. Hopefully they weren't broken…no. They were a little bent, but that could be dealt with later.

Okay. He'd lain here long enough, it was time to go back. Damn the library, it had brought him nothing but trouble anyway.

He struggled up, ignoring the sudden increase in physical misery, and made his way to the wall. He'd just stand here for a minute, get his balance.

Something upstairs creaked and he shrank back instinctively. There was nothing there and he shook his head. A grown man-the Scarecrow at that!-jumping at small noises.

Unfortunately, the head-shake sent him to his knees lest he fall on his face and he took a deep breath, hoping he wouldn't puke.

It was still raining, and it had only gotten worse. It was going to be a miserable walk back.

He tried standing again, but his body disagreed. The best he could do was to straighten up, but the second he tried actually standing he blacked out again.

* * *

_"__Jonathan? Jonathan. Wake up, love."_

_"__Kitty." He swallows. "When did you get here?"_

_"__I came looking for you."_

_She looks better. She looks _normal_. Must've been some weird strain of the flu, that was all…_

_He hugs her-she's freezing, she shouldn't have come out in the rain so soon._

_"__How are you feeling?"_

_"__Tired." One hand rubs the back of his neck. "Very tired. Where have you been? You've been gone for ages."_

_"__It's a long story…Kitty?"_

_"__What?"_

_He blinks. For a second he could have _sworn_…never mind. Lightning._

_"__It's nothing." He moves to stand up and she refuses to let go. "Come on, let's go home."_

_"__You are home."_

_"__That's not what I meant." He tries to pry her hands off and can't do it. "Seriously, you should be lying down."_

_She looks at him, her expression blank._

_"__No."_

_"__Kitty…"_

_"__You sound scared." she says. "Are you scared of me, Jonathan?"_

_He's not sure._

_"__Come on, you need to…"_

_"__Didn't do me much good before, did it?" She's not blinking. Why is she not blinking? "You still killed me."_

_"__Kitty, I didn't…"_

_"__Shh, shh." She grips his head with both hands. "It's all right. It won't take long."_

_"__What are you doing?" He can't move. Why can't he move? "Kitty, please-"_

_His head is jerked roughly to the side and there's nothing more._

* * *

**_Jonny. Jon. Twilight Sparkle*._**

_Wh-what happened?_

**_You passed out again. C'mon, I'm hungry…what's with the heavy breathing? Did you have a nice dream without me? You prick!_**

_Nightmare._

**_Even better, asshole! Show some consideration._**

He struggled up. His head was pounding by this time, but the nausea had passed. It wasn't raining, either, and he deemed it safe to walk home. He was getting the hell out of here, library be damned.

He got two steps in the door before being attacked by a small, clutching zombie.

"Hi, Kitty."

"Where've you been?"

"Long story." He shrugged out of his coat and guided her into the living room. "What are you doing out of bed?"

"You've been gone all day." At least she was lucid. "And the man in my room won't stop staring at me." Or not.

He ran his fingers through her hair, hoping to dislodge one of Tetch's chips. Surely it would have come off by now, but…no dice.

"Tell him if he doesn't stop, I'll have to find him."

"No!" The arms around his ribs tightened to a painful degree. "He'll kill you!"

**_I'm starting to think that's impossible. Death probably hates you for coming so close and then walking away all the time._**

_He shouldn't get his hopes up so easily, then._

"Okay. Okay, Kitty, I won't tell him anything. Come on, let's get you back to bed."

She refused to move and he ended up carrying her there.

"He's still here."

"He won't hurt you. I'll be right back, all right?"

"Promise?"

"Promise."

"He thinks that's funny."

"Good for him."

He left the room and went back outside. The only semi-decent reception was outside, and he had a call to make.

"Come on, come on…"

"What does not ask a question but needs an answer?"

"Not now, Edward."

"You give up!" He sounded delighted. "It's a phone. You should know that."

"So help me, if you spend this entire conversation speaking in riddles, I will hunt you down and you will spend the rest of your miserable life mindlessly screaming. No." He cut off the stream of protests. "I have never given you an overdose before, but I will. And I'll use a needle, Edward. We both know how you feel about needles."

"You monster."

"So they tell me. I need information."

"Where the hell are you? Your voice is fuzzy."

"Out of town. The reception is terrible."

"You're in _nature_?" He sounded horrified. "What is the matter with you?"

"Vacation. Listen, and I will know if you're lying-has anybody been testing any new chemicals recently, ones that mimic a respiratory illness?"

"Umm…" There was tapping on the other end. "No. Why?"

"Kitty's sick."

"What did you do?"

"Nothing! You're sure?"

"Yeah. Laughing gas is the only thing, and you'd know."

Too right he'd know. Laughing gas was instantaneous and unmistakable-within seconds there would be giggling, and within the hour it was irreversible.

"Thank you, Edward."

"You're wel…if you're lying, and this is a ruse for Batman to find me…"

"Tempting, but no." He stowed that idea away for later, however, and hung up. He hadn't really thought that would pan out, but still. It was worth a try.

_Dammit._

* * *

*I don't know that anyone wants to know where Scarecrow got that. I don't want to know. Arkham, maybe?


	11. Chapter 11

Christineoftheopera-**_Well, somebody appreciates my sense of humor. Jonny-boy doesn't have one._**_ Just not when it comes to you. You're like that annoying uncle that gives you bruised ribs from jabbing them every time he makes a 'joke'. **Well... **Admit it. It's true. **Maybe a little.**_

SwordStitcher-_They only play 'happy children's programming'. It won't interfere with our recovery, after all. Thank god their pathetic library is a little better... **The fuck's a brony? Can I use it against him? Or is it one of those people who gets off pretending to be a horse? **_

Guest-_They tried playing 'Barney' instead, but that triggered a patient revolt. One of the bloodiest massacres in Arkham's history-about three people survived, and they ended up in an asylum out of state. Unfortunately, I was not present at the time. _

Just-Me-and-My-Brain-_I don't know where she got it. She's so clumsy, it could be from anything-shower mishap, kitchen knife, PEZ container...I can't very well ask her, either. People who are hallucinating murderous ghosts usually aren't giving reliable answers about that sort of thing._

* * *

_I have never felt so betrayed in all my years of living. To think that my own loyal Marcus would steal from me!_

Jonathan had been suspecting he'd get to this point sooner or later. That didn't make it any easier to swallow.

_He denied it, of course, but I could see through his lie. If he was innocent, he wouldn't have flung himself to the floor and insisted otherwise._

Seeing as other pages mentioned 'thirty lashes' and 'set the hounds on them', he had trouble believing that. He'd have to keep the dog thing in mind, though-common phobia.

_I will not tolerate theft under any circumstances. Allow it once and they'll think they can try it again. That will not stand. This will be dealt with at dawn._

He turned the page. The ink was thick here and the writing was hurried-despite his earlier bravado, Elias was disturbed.

_It is finished. But the gag was not tied properly-fools-and as he dangled there he swore that I would pay for what I had done._

There was more-the body had been burned as an example to anyone getting ideas, and then he went into the _exciting_ description of taxes. Ugh.

"He won't leave."

He flinched and dropped the book, bending down to grab it before she could see what it was.

"You shouldn't be up."

"Mum's sleeping and he won't leave." She looked at him, eyes dull. "Why."

"Come on." He got up, feeling things pop, and took her by the shoulders. "You shouldn't be out of bed."

"He got closer." she mumbled. "Now he's by my bed."

Of course he was.

"You're imagining things, Kitty."

She dug in her heels and refused to be guided out of the room. Why did she have to make things difficult, couldn't she see unicorns or something?

"Come on."

"Make him go away."

"How."

"I don't know."

_Come on, Kitty, say you're joking. It's not funny but I'll laugh if you want me to._

"Do you want to stay in here?"

Nod, nod.

"I'm just going to tell your mother where you are, all right? She'll worry."

"No."

"Yes."

_That_ got her to follow him, clinging tightly to his robe with shaky fingers. She would only go halfway down the hall, however, before letting go and staying still, leaning against the wall.

Mrs. Richardson was asleep in the chair, snoring softly. She looked exhausted and he hated to wake her up. Out of habit-maybe Batman had found them-he did a quick sweep of the room. Nothing.

"Mrs. Richardson." He shook her. "Mrs. Richardson."

"Mm?"

"Kitty refuses to come back in here." It was cold in here and it did feel like someone was standing behind him…no. He shouldn't pay any attention to her, she was sick. "She's still insisting there's a man."

"Mm." She wasn't awake at all, was she. "Watch her."

She shuffled off towards her own room and he went back to his, catching Kitty on the way.

"Come on. You don't need to be up."

She didn't say anything and she just stood there when he put his hand on her head. Her temperature really wasn't that high…if anything, it had gone down. Strange. Very strange.

**_Doctor._**

_In this town? We were still preforming lobotomies when I was a teenager._

**_Ugh!_**

_Yeah. This is not the place to see a medical professional._

"Maybe we should go back to Gotham." he said. "You could see a doctor."

"Mm-mm." She blinked at him. "Don't wanna time travel right now."

What…oh.

"Not that doctor."

"No?"

"No. Come on, lie down."

"What if he comes in here?"

"He won't come in here." God, he was tired… "Calm down."

She believed him, apparently, because she scrunched up against him without another word.

* * *

He was woken a little while later when she got up and wandered out of the room.

"Kitty?"

Sleepwalking. Damn. She'd done it in college once or twice-scared him the first time she did it, when she decided to organise the knife drawer-but she hadn't done it since.

He put his glasses on and went to go and get her before she broke her neck on the staircase.

"Kitty?"

She was standing at the door to her own room, looking at the window.

"He's gone." she said, her words running together. "He's gone away."

"That's good. Come on…"

"He's latched onto you."

**_Nice knowing you!_**

"Kitty…"

She turned around and pointed somewhere over his shoulder.

"There."

He didn't believe her-this was nonsense, all of it-but she believed herself, and he couldn't help the shiver that ran down his spine.

"Come on. Back to bed."

He took hold of her shoulders and guided her back to bed.

"Make him blink."

"He'll blink eventually."

"Is that why you don't blink? Maybe you're dead."

"I think I'd know. Go to sleep."

"Don't be dead."

"I'm not."

"What if you don't know you're dead?"

If this wasn't so serious, it would be a goldmine of blackmail material.

"I'm not dead."

"He thinks that's funny." she said. "And one of his eyes is hanging out."

Nice.

"Tell him to put it back. And go to sleep, it's late."

She shrugged and lay back down without argument. Weird. He'd have preferred her to see flying frogs again-this was creepy and weird.

**_What's the difference?_**

_I don't know, it's just weird._

**_Whatever. Have fun with your new friend._**

_I don't have a new friend. I'm stuck with you, that's all._

**_As long as he doesn't flash us, whatever._**

_I did not want that mental image, thanks._

**_What? Something about rotted zombie-dick scaring you? You know it's got scabs-they all had disease-but it's not that bad._**

_…__Why do you do this to me?_

**_Some people like it, it's all fine._**

_Kill me now._

**_Nighty-night, wimpy._**

He shook his head and froze when Kitty moved. She wasn't going anywhere-just rolling over to grip his shirt. Typical.

_Come on, Kitty, wake up. I'll put up with a Doctor Who marathon if you do, just please…_

But she didn't wake.


	12. Chapter 12

AN: There is a little app called Monument Valley. You need to get that app. Warning for not PC language-I'm not a bitch, I swear. (Well, up to a point...idiots are fair game.) It's historical. And I feel guilty for typing it but it couldn't be helped so SORRY.

The Puppeteer Patient 120402-_It's not the book. I think there might be a connection, but not that. There's someone else in your house. Of course there is. Don't go over there. Shh._

Just-Me-and-My-Brain-_Nice to see someone's enjoying my misery. Maybe I have the plague. Don't even joke at this point. Bring out your dead! Do not make me sedate you._

* * *

He didn't sleep, and by sunrise he was still there, stiff and sore and honest-to-god _exhausted._

She nestled tighter against his chest and he wondered if she was still warm. He was tempted to wake her up, actually, but decided it was better to let her sleep.

The doorknob twisted and he closed his eyes. Mrs. Richardson-he could smell the cream in her coffee. Deep, even breaths…still asleep…

The door closed again and he heard her whisper, "Still asleep."

"Maybe we should call a doctor."

"Her temperature was down last night…and the doctor in this town, you know how he is, we had to drive five hours to get your appendix out!"

"What is going on?"

"I don't know…"

They moved off down the stairs and he opened his eyes again, reached over for his glasses. He doubted this was contagious-he'd be, at the very least, suffering malaise. So what was it?

She murmured something and he froze, half-hoping she was waking up. She was only rolling over and he relaxed again, running his thumb absently along her wrist.

That scratch hadn't healed and he tried to remember _where did she get that_ and came up blank. It was bugging him now. Batman? No, she hadn't had it when they left…must've scraped it when they were looking for that deed…

Oh, never mind. He'd ask her later. If there was a later.

"Jon'than?"

"Hey."

"Where am I?"

"You came in here last night. Remember?"

"Ada won't like that."

No, probably not. But the man had to come to terms sometime. Denial was not healthy.

"He doesn't mind." Not if he knew what was good for him, anyway. "How are you feeling?"

"Fuzzy." She stretched a bit. "Hungover."

He'd take hungover. Better than death.

"It's something."

She nodded.

"I don't feel very well."

"Sore throat?"

"Mm-mm. Just don't feel well."

Improvement, then. Maybe this would turn out to be nothing.

His hope for that was shattered a minute later.

"He won't stop talking."

"Kitty…"

"Says he'll string you up like Marcus."

He went very still and looked at the door. There was nothing there, but she'd gotten that from _somewhere_. The diary was still in the drawer, but…

"What else is he saying?"

"That's it. But he won't stop laughing…"

"All right. All right, listen to me. If anybody is going to 'string me up', it'll be Batman for killing one too many people. You know that, don't you?"

"But…"

"I am going to get a cup of coffee. Do you want one?"

She shook her head and he got up, half-expecting to walk through a cold spot on the way out. He didn't-of course he didn't, that was ridiculous!-and he made it downstairs unscathed.

Kitty's parents were sitting at the dining room table when he came in. Crap. He'd been hoping to avoid them until after coffee.

"Good morning."

"Morning, dear."

"Morning."

"Kitty's up."

"And?"

He shrugged.

"There's nothing wrong with her. Physically." he hastened to clarify. "Low-grade fever and malaise, that's it. And the, ah…persistent hallucination."

"Just the one, though?"

"Yes. Nothing new." Well, apart from its newfound friend, but that was another matter. "I don't know…I don't think it's a mental break, but I don't know what else…"

"Mum?"

"Kitty!" There was a flurry of pink bathrobe as Mrs. Richardson darted across the kitchen. "What are you doing up, how are you feeling?"

"M'okay."

"Two minutes, don't talk." came the brisk instruction before a thermometer was jammed under her tongue. He hid a smile behind his mug-sick or not, she'd be mad if she caught him enjoying her misery.

Too late-she gave him a pissy look around the thermometer.

"I'm just going to get dressed…yeah."

Hopefully she'd forget about this by the time he came back down.

* * *

Kitty went back to bed-probably to escape the fussing-and he took the time to continue reading.

_Went into Marcus' old quarters to see about turning them into storage. Hurt myself on an old trunk-just a scrape, but rather painful. I almost miss the man, really-we had good after-dinner talks. Very intelligent for a negro._

Somebody had a guilty conscience! Why kill people if you were going to have a conscience about it?

Oh, never mind. He probably just wasn't used to it, that was all.

The next few pages were boring, but then he hit upon something that nearly caused him to throw the book away.

_Awoke at midnight to see Marcus standing in the corner of my bedroom._

That was all it said, and the diary ended there.

He thumbed through it again, searching for loose pages that might have been misplaced, and found nothing. Annoyingly, the little book was in good shape. Seriously? What had happened?

What exactly _had_ happened to him, anyway? Granny had told him the ghost story often enough, but he couldn't remember her telling him anything else.

Hm.

He shoved the diary into his nightstand drawer and sighed. It had been no help _and_ that useless writer had died or something just when things had gotten interesting! People were so inconsiderate sometimes.

* * *

He wasn't sure what woke him. The storm, maybe?

Kitty had come back in here-nothing new-but she wasn't asleep. She was just sitting there, watching the corner by the window.

"Kitty?"

She had something in her hand, but he couldn't see what it was without his glasses. He reached around her to pick them up.

"What are you doing up?"

He put them on and promptly wished he hadn't.

She'd gotten a very…large…carving knife from downstairs.

**_Dude, run._**

"Kitty."

She finally answered, but she didn't look away from the corner.

"He doesn't like the knife. Now he won't come over."

Okay. That was…slightly reassuring.

"Maybe you should let me hold it for a while, huh?"

"But…"

"Give it here." She didn't, but she let him pry it from her fingers. "Good. Now go to sleep."

"What if he comes over?"

"I'll hold the knife." _Until you go to sleep, then it's going safely out of your reach._ "Come on, go to sleep."

Maybe she'd inhaled something in that attic. It was just too odd that she and Elias would be having hallucinations after going in there. But he wasn't sick…

Wait.

After making _sure_ she was asleep, he got the diary out of the nightstand and flicked to the last few pages.

_Hurt myself on an old trunk…_

That odd scrape…

_Oh my god._


	13. Chapter 13

AN: Wolf spider bites are unpleasant but harmless. They hurt, though-my aunt (accounting for her being a bit of a wuss) had a miserable go of it. I don't much like them, personally-they're large and fast. And the end of this chapter...oh, boy.

The Puppeteer Patient 120402-**_Kid has no sense of self-preservation whatsoever._**_ Hey! **It's true. She could be coming at you with a cleaver and you'd try to talk her down. **That would imply a breakdown, it's only reasonable. **I'm sure there's something you could to do to piss her off. **Not me. You._

Just-Me-and-My-Brain-_Sleepwalking. Definitely sleepwalking or...something... **Ghost. **No. NO, NO, NO. That does not make sense. **Um, she's gotten awfully specific. Maybe she's piercing the veil or whatever. **That makes even less sense, and we're not entertaining that possibility. **Do-do-do-do-do-do-do-do. **What was that. **Twilight Zone!**_

* * *

He was out of the house at four in the morning. Safer that way-he wouldn't have to deal with questions.

It was still raining and part of the old porch had finally given way. Water had collected down there and he could see a drowned rat bobbing gently up and down.

Nice. Very nice.

He stepped over the hole, ignoring Scarecrow's comments about the _hilarious_ possibility of him falling through and landing on the rat.

There were more rats inside-he could hear them scurrying away from him. Great. Hopefully this wasn't brought on by a rat bite…

God, why did it always feel like someone was watching him?

**_Because Kitty's ghost is totally staring at you._**

_Shut up, Scarecrow._

**_You know it is! It's probably playing 'I'm not touching you'._**

_No, it isn't._

**_Haha! It's probably standing RIGHT BEHIND YOU going, "I'm not touching you! I'm not touching you!"_**

_Just because you have the maturity of a six year-old doesn't mean that the non-existent ghost does._

He went upstairs, hoping the staircase wouldn't finally give out. It didn't and before he was really ready, he found himself in the attic.

It was hot and stuffy up here. A black widow had made a home on the window, though, so he'd just have to suffer.

Now, just what had she gotten into up here?

Elias had mentioned the trunk. He'd start with that.

He pushed it open and felt a sudden pain in his finger.

_Oh, boy._

**_Told ya, ya should've worn gloves._**

No. No, it was all right-he'd disturbed a wolf spider and gotten bit.

It scurried off and he breathed a sigh of relief that it hadn't been a black widow.

That scrape had been fairly good-sized. Accounting for her clumsiness-let her near a stepladder and she'd fall in five minutes-whatever had caused it had to be at least _visible_. No hidden needles or anything.

He eyed the wolf spider, which had retreated to the far end of the lid. Was there anything in here…ah. A jar.

He swooped at it with the jar, knocked it in, and set it upside-down on the floor. There. One less thing to worry about.

Now, what could she have…?

**_Uh, Jonny?_**

_Not now._

**_Yeah, now._**

_What._

**_Somebody else is here._**

You know, he almost hoped it was Batman.

He froze, listening for something, and heard nothing at all.

_You're imagining things._

**_Am not!_**

He tuned him out-if it turned out to be nosy kids, they wouldn't be leaving. He'd just stack the remains quietly in the cellar and get on with things.

**_Not even a little fun?_**

_I am busy. No._

The wolf spider was pissed-it was moving quickly back and forth in its glass prison, sometimes making little lunges at the sides of the jar. Served it right, bity little monster.

A hunk of wood jutted out from the side. He'd seen it initially and dismissed it as age breaking the trunk, but maybe not.

It was the best guess he had, and he was _not_ lugging this dusty old thing downstairs and back home.

He wrapped his hand in the remnants of a dress and snapped off the piece of wood. There. He'd just take it back home, run some tests…

**_I'm telling you, somebody's here._**

_Fine. We'll look. I got what I was looking for anyway._

He released the spider and started downstairs. He'd made it to the third floor-he'd always hated this floor, there was a shrine to Granny's dead brother on it-when he finally heard what Scarecrow had been fussing about.

**_Told you so._**

_You did._

The noise was coming from the staircase and he backed into an open room and waited. Three…two…one…

"Kitty?"

What the hell was she doing? Did she have a death wish?

"What are you doing in here?"

"Long story…why are you up? This place is a health hazard, you shouldn't be here."

She shook her head slowly.

"I don't remember."

There was a **BOOM!** of thunder and they both jumped.

"Come on, let's go home, get you dried off." He took her hand. "Sleepwalking?"

"I don't know."

They were halfway down the stairs when she stopped and pulled on his arm.

"Jonathan?"

"What."

"Who's that?"

Not again…

"It's nobody." He turned around, intending to just pick her up, and stopped cold.

Granny was standing at the top of the staircase.


	14. Chapter 14

AN: Even I didn't see that one coming.

The Puppeteer Patient 120402-**_WE'RE GONNA DIE._**_ **Think I can pin everything on him and get away with it?**_

Just-Me-and-My-Brain-**_Uh, she looks pretty real to me. _**

* * *

No. No, that wasn't possible, she couldn't be here.

_What do we do?_

**_If it were me, I'd get down on my knees and start swearing up and down that the Devil made me do it. Do you know any exorcisms?_**

She looked exactly the same as he remembered her-wrinkled and ancient, yet somehow much more frightening than anything he could have dreamt up on his own.

They looked at each other for a minute before Kitty pulled on his sleeve again.

"Who is that?"

"That's Granny."

She looked from him to her and back again.

"That's your grandmother?"

"Yes."

"The one you…erm…"

"Yes."

Granny started down the stairs. Her limp was more pronounced than he remembered, but she wasn't moving nearly slow enough for his liking.

"Jonathan…"

**_RUN._**

He turned and bolted, dragging her along behind him. They'd barely turned a corner when she was _there_, staring at them with sunken eyes.

"G-Granny…"

She raised her hand and he stepped back.

_It's not real, it can't be real, she's dead…_

Dead or not, she was planted firmly between them and the door and he had no intention of proving her non-existence by walking through her. Or, for that matter, getting too closer to her at all.

"What do we do?"

"I don't know."

**_We die._**

_Thanks for your ever-present support, Scarecrow._

**_Bum-rush her._**

_NO._

He had a gun-toxin was all very well, but it drew attention-but did guns work on ghosts?

Time to find out. For science!

"Good bye, Granny."

He fired.

And watched in horror as the bullet went straight through her and embedded itself in the wall.

"Um, Jonathan?"

"That was better in my head."

Granny frowned and raised an eyebrow. That had never boded well. Even after these years, he remembered that.

She moved forward and he yanked Kitty into an open room and slammed the door.

**_Dude, a bullet went through her. She'll just walk through._**

_Shut up shut up!_

"What now?"

"I don't know."

"Maybe she can't hurt you."

"Oh, I think she can." Was there another way out? Of course not, he'd pulled them into the dining room.

She coughed and leaned against him. Granny hadn't come in yet. That meant nothing, but still.

**"****Jonathan Crane!"**

Never mind.

Why hadn't she come in yet? Surely she'd seen them go in here…unless she was just waiting them out. She didn't have to do anything anymore, she could stand by the door as long as she wanted.

"Jonathan?"

"I don't know, I don't know."

The windows just _had_ to be those old gothic-style ones, impossible to climb out of. And there was no other entrance-the servants' entrance had long ago been sealed after a candle had tipped over and sent flames halfway up the doorframe. (That had not been his fault, but he'd been punished for it all the same.)

"I suppose you can't claim it was all an accident?"

"I don't think she'll buy it."

The doors flew open and she limped in, eyes flashing. Had she always been this tall?

**"****You." **He took a step back. **"You did this."**

"Granny…"

**"****Ungrateful brat!"**

"Please…"

**"****I took you in and this is how you repay me?"**

Kitty started coughing again, and this time she couldn't stop and ended up slumped against his knees, managing little more than desperate wheezes for breath.

**"****Come here, Jonathan."**

"No." His voice was quiet, but she heard him all the same. Deafness had not been included in her symptoms of old age, unfortunately.

**"****Don't make me come and get you."**

"You're dead. You can't do anything."

She looked at him with that horribly passive look she'd always gotten when he was about to wish for death.

**"****Oh, no?"**

She raised her arms.

Outside, he heard the cawing of crows.


	15. Chapter 15

AN: Would you believe this didn't start out this way? I always heard Granny's voice as being Norman Bates' Mother from _Psycho_, by the way-I think those two would get on smashingly. Let's all be grateful they've never met. We've now gone completely off-canon, in case that wasn't clear. Come, let us skip through the meadows of what-the-fuck-is-this!

Christineoftheopera-_To whom it may concern-what few earthly possessions I own are rigged, and will therefore pass into the hands of the Riddler. With the exception of a locket (project in the making) which will go to my therapist, Jane Parks, who should have known better than to make such wild accusations._

The Puppeteer Patient 120402-_Maybe I'm dead and this has all been my journey to Hell. That has to be it. There's no other explanation, Jesus Christ... _

Just-Me-and-My-Brain-_I'm not sick I don't think she's sick either we're dead we're dead this is Hell. **General consensus seems to be that we went to Hell. This is a lot less fun than I thought it would be. **_

Katherine-_I wish I would, but I'm pretty certain this is not a dream. _

* * *

The cawing grew louder and he ducked, years of conditioning coming back in a hurry. Ride it out, that was all he could do was just wait and hope to God they didn't tear him apart.

Kitty wasn't coughing anymore. For that matter, she wasn't doing anything but sort of lying there, eyes closed.

"Kitty?" He shook her-coughing was preferable to nothing. "Kitty, wake up." Where were they, why hadn't they come? "Kitty!"

CRA-ASH!

A cloud of black feathers and deafening screams swept into the room, smashing into cabinets and doors. A path appeared in their midst and before he could move back, gnarled hands gripped his throat and drove him up against the wall.

"Granny, please…"

**"****I told you, didn't I, boy?"**

"Can't breathe…"

**"****I told you you'd be sorry!"**

Long fingernails

_Bird's talons even now_

dug into his skin. He could feel little rivulets of blood dripping down.

_Why aren't they attacking blood always made them worse_

He tried to squirm away from her, but it had never worked before and it didn't work now. She laughed at him, her laughter mingling with the cawing of the birds.

Maybe it was the lack of oxygen, but he could _swear_ the door opened up and a massive shadowy figure, one he'd never seen before, strode into the room. There was a hideous rope burn around their neck and a rusty shackle was clasped around their wrist.

Marcus.*

"Please…"

He grabbed her around the waist and yanked her back, letting Jonathan drop to the floor, coughing.

**"****No! No! Unhand me right now!"**

He did not speak, only nodded briefly at Jonathan before striding back through the crows and towards the door.

"Kitty?" The crows were beginning to disperse now. "Kitty, wake up." He shook her again. This time she started coughing and he nudged her up. "Deep breaths…come on…"

"Where'd she go?"

He had no idea, and he didn't really want to find out.

"Come on. Let's go home."

She didn't move and he finally picked her up.

"What happened?"

Honestly? He had no idea. This went against the laws of everything.

"It's a long story, Kitty."

* * *

"Where have you been?"

"It's a-"

"I've been worried sick, absolutely worried _sick_!"

"I think I found the problem." he mumbled. "I have to run some tests, that's all…"

"You do not scare me again like that! And you!" She turned to Kitty, who was clinging to him like she'd fall otherwise. "You march yourself back to bed right now, do I make myself clear?"

"Mum…"

"Your father's out scouring the back roads…we thought you'd sleepwalked into the pond! Bed! Now!"

"But…"

"March!"

She went. He wouldn't really call it a _march_, more of a shuffle, but she went. He tried to take advantage of this to slip out to the car for his equipment, but she grabbed his wrist before he could take two steps.

"What is going on."

"Essentially? A booby-trap."

"A booby-trap."

"Yes."

"And would that have anything to do with the flock of crows that swarmed your house this afternoon?"

"Yes."

"Jonathan Crane, I want answers. Now."

"Soon, I promise." Once he'd had time to think up a lie-she'd never believe the truth. "But right now I need to get to work."

She let him go.

"Fix this." she said. "Please."

He didn't answer her.

* * *

*Marcus is 'played' by Michael Clarke Duncan-the big guy from _The Green Mile_. (RIP, Mr. Duncan.)


	16. Chapter 16

AN: I did not mean for this to go on so long. The first draft was short. BUT Granny sort of…arrived…and…well…there's some characters I don't like to argue with. Self-preservation and all. Almost done, I think. FINALLY.

Katherine-_I suspect he would have left me to die if he knew who I was. Assuming he was there at all...that makes no sense...now I see what Lovecraft meant._

The Puppeteer Patient 120402-_Great, she's come back from the dead._

* * *

He commandeered the kitchen (complete with barricade to make _sure_) and set everything up. He'd very nearly considered not doing this-she'd been right about Granny-but then her fever had decided to spike.

_This is insanity…_

_Hallucinations, were we hallucinating?_

But the marks around his neck were real enough.

_Self-induced?_

No. No, no. Thinking about that now would only make this harder. Set it aside, deal with it later.

Scarecrow, for once, was silent-probably traumatized. Good. One less distraction.

_Granny…_

He had to wonder, now, if Kitty's ghost was here, or if it existed at all, or…

"Jonathan?"

"How'd you get in?"

"You missed the other door."

Ah. So he had.

"What are you doing up?"

"Couldn't sleep."

"Couldn't or didn't want to?"

She didn't answer, preferring to settle into the chair next to him and watch him with sleepy eyes. There was no point in arguing with her. He would lose and Mrs. Richardson might come in.

He sighed and went back to chipping pieces off the chunk of wood he'd brought back and trying not to think about what had gone on.

"What're you doing?"

"Checking for something." There, that should be enough for now. "I think you triggered a booby trap."

"Mm."

Why wasn't she pretending to be affronted, rambling on about god-knew-what, doing _anything_ besides being still and quiet and not-distracting?

"It _would_ be you." Years of practice had honed his skills of talking and working at the same time. "You trip over _air_, for heaven's sake…"

"I check to make sure gravity's working."

He'd take it.

"Whatever makes you feel better." He braced himself for the usual poke, but it didn't come. "Go back to bed."

"No."

He dropped a chip of wood into one of his test tubes and the liquid inside turned green and bubbled over. Good. Granny's spice cabinet had at least some of the ingredients, then. He didn't really want to go back there, in case…

_I imagined it, all of it…_

_But she…_

No. Not now, later. Much later. Or never.

No matter. This was something he recognised, and he could work with that.

Usually a reaction like that would have garnered _something_, but not this time. When he looked over, she'd fallen back asleep.

_And you tell me I'm a terrible patient…_

It wasn't worth it to take her back to bed and he ended up tucking the blanket she'd brought down around her and letting it go.

* * *

He was startled into the real world by a coughing fit.

_Granny, please-!_

No, not Granny, he'd imagined that, he'd _imagined that_.

"Kitty. Kitty, wake up."

He jostled her a little

_She hasn't always been this thin, surely…_

before giving up and getting up to get a glass of water.

"Kitty, wake up."

_Please._

She finally came to, bedraggled and wheezing, and he pressed the water into her hand.

"Come on, up to bed."

"He's still up there."

_Granny please no I'm sorry I'm SORRY_

"Okay."

She settled back into the chair, clutching the cup, and he went back to his work.


	17. Chapter 17

AN: So the other day it was thundering like _crazy_, and I was trying to read. So-JOKINGLY, I swear-I'm like, 'Thor, shut up!'

About three seconds after the words left my lips, there was this really big BOOM and it knocked the power out for like, three hours.

Still not sure if that was the best or worst timing ever.

Sorry this late, (and not my best…sorry) by the way-I had a publishing deadline to meet-fifty spellchecks, summary do-over, you know. Worth it, but life's been scary busy.

Katherine-_I was distracted by birds and dead relatives._

* * *

He didn't realise the time until Mrs Richardson rapped on the doorframe.

"Jonathan?"

"I've almost got it." It wasn't so complicated, really-that blue flower had caused far more trouble.

"You're nearly asleep…shouldn't you be wearing safety goggles?"

Not even Kitty gave him lectures on lab safety. But that might have been caused by an underlying desire for superpowers.

"Probably…"

Kitty yawned and mumbled, "Don't nag 'im, Mum, he could be the next Spiderman or somethin'."

"What are you doing down here?"

"Sleeping."

"I think I've got it."

In an ideal world, he would test it for two months, but this wasn't an ideal world.

_What happened over there?_

"Don' like needles."

He looked to Mrs. Richardson for help.

"Kitty, you hold still and be quiet or else."

"Mu-um…" She started to cough again. "M'fine."

She scowled but sat still and stared at her water glass.

Hopefully this wasn't poison. Great, something else to worry about.

He sent her up to bed and she went, rubbing her arm and grumbling.

"You can clean this up tomorrow." He shrugged. "Jonathan…what was that?"

"Complicated." He sighed and stood up, feeling things crack. "I'll watch her. If there's side effects or…anything…"

She went back upstairs and he figured she was making sure Kitty had actually gone to bed like she was supposed to. He'd go in there in a minute, but there was something he had to do first.

He went upstairs and got the ratty diary from his room. Such an innocuous little thing, really-who would have thought it would cause this much trouble?

He took it outside, cleared a patch in the yard, and lit it on fire. It was the smoke, of course, but he was almost certain he saw a man in the fields a little ways away, with one eye hanging out of his socket and a thick rope in his hand.

Then he blinked and the man was gone.

He went back upstairs to get cleaned up. He was expecting there to be bruises on his throat, but when he looked there were none. There was no sign of the ordeal this afternoon-not even a stray feather.

Had he imagined it? Surely…but Granny…

He left the room and went to go find Kitty. She was asleep and he didn't wake her.

God, he was tired…but Kitty…

It was going to be a long night.

* * *

He became aware of someone combing his hair out of his face.

_Need a haircut…_

Mrs. Richardson-probably trying to chase him off to bed.

_M'awake, s'fine…_

"You're going to get a crick."

"M'okay, Kitty." he murmured. "S'fine…"

Hang on.

"Kitty?"

She still looked like death, but she was awake, she was…maybe lucid…

"Uh-huh. What are you doing?"

His glasses had fallen off his face and he put them back on, straightened up. He was definitely awake now, if a bit stiff.

"You…you were sick, I…"

"I told you it was just a cold. You worry too much."

Didn't she remember?

"But…that diary, and…"

"Are you sure _you're_ not sick?"

Had _he_ imagined everything?

"M'fine…hold still, let me look you over."

She sighed but sat still while he took her pulse and checked her eyes and asked her a handful of questions to make sure she hadn't suffered any kind of brain-frying or anything.

"You're fine."

"Just a cold." she insisted. "I told you that, you didn't listen."

"You don't remember…we were at my house, the crows…" She shook her head. "Probably for the best."

She blinked at him.

"You look a fright." Wait for it… "I'm slightly gratified."

A wave of relief washed over him. She was okay. Everything was okay. He'd wake her parents in the morning, first thing, but…it was four AM. They needed to sleep.

Imagined or not, he thought, glancing at the shadowy form of Keeney Manor, he was not going back over there. Whatever lived there-ghosts

_Nonsense, there's no such thing no such THING_

or memories

_Granny no please I'm sorry_

could keep it.

THE END


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